


The Second Waltz

by MordorIsCalling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Regency, Ballroom Dancing, Family Fluff, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sibling Love, no beta we are feral like Jaskier, oh the inherent eroticim of waltzing, omg this turned into Geralt and Jaskier just being Wild and Horny, this is Idiots to Lovers I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: “Jaskier!” Essi gasped out, “The White Wolf?!” She erupted into giggles, not waiting for a reply. “Oh, it’s just like you! Getting the best one for yourself!”Jaskier blinked owlishly.“I’m sorry,what?”“Jaskier, you just danced with Geralt of Rivia!” Priscilla exclaimed. At seeing the flabbergastered expression on her brother’s face, she pursed her lips, clearly repressing a laugh. “Do tell, why does it come as such a shock to you?” she asked, her voice tremoring with mirth.Jaskier groaned, hiding his face in his hands. It was just like him, he mused, not to notice that he had danced with the most famous witcher in the whole country.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 372





	1. I - Their First Waltz

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Defiance & Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228935) by [letmetellyouaboutmyfeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My WIPs huddle up in the corner to cry while new ideas won't let me live my life until I write them down. The curse of being a fanfic writer is strong these days, folks. At least it makes me produce a lot of content, yeah? xD
> 
> This fanfic is inspired by Dimitri Shostakovich's "The Second Waltz" (which is a very beautiful waltz that I will link down below) and letmetellyouaboutmyfeels's idea of partnership between witchers and bards in a Regency AU. Their fic "Defiance & Destiny" is hands down the most enjoyable and interesting Geraskier fic inspired by Austen's novels I've read, and I highly recommend reading it :D 
> 
> Was waltzing even a thing during the Regency Era? Probably not? I'm not sure. But let's pretend it was for the fun of some sweet, sweet sexual tension. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

[The Second Waltz by Dimitri Shostakovich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hTvc3f83Ws&ab_channel=Ma%C3%81ngelesCaroLassodelaVega)

* * *

Wanda Pankratz observed the centre of the ballroom with rapt attention, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. She watched the two figures dance together with such an astounding harmony that all the other pairs stopped in their tracks and stared at them. When the man dressed in black twirled the man in blue up in the air, the Countess de Lettenhove’s lips curled into a pleased grin. She shared a look with her husband Alfred, then spoke to the witcher standing next to her.

“Mister Witcher,” she said, “I think it’s _a match_.”

Eskel of the Wolf School inclined his head with an amicable smile and answered, “So it seems.”

***

“Which one is better?” Jaskier asked his sisters as he raised a white and a red doublet in the air.

“The red one,” Essi answered. The very same moment, Priscilla replied, “The white one.”

In the privacy of the room, the two ladies snickered inelegantly, and Jaskier snorted in amusement. “Always so helpful, my dears.”

“Glad to be of service,” Priscilla deadpanned, then returned to scribbling verses in her notebook, leaning back against the chair by the desk.

Jaskier watched her closely, searching for any indication of sorrow on her face, but his older sister’s expression revealed nothing but concentration. It had been a long time since she had composed anything, and Jaskier was relieved to see her write again.

“ _Why bother asking, brother dear?_ ” Essi sang, effectively breaking Jaskier out of his grim contemplation. She got up from her seat at the edge of the bed and danced over to her brother’s side, singing on, “ _true beauty cannot be stifled by even the foulest of garments_.”

The Viscount de Lettenhove smiled at his sister younger warmly. “Oh, my sweet Poppet –”

His words were cut off by their mother entering the room. Lady Wanda Pankratz swept her gaze over her son’s bedroom, taking in what had to be at least half of her son’s considerable wardrobe laid out on every surface available. She smirked knowingly and addressed Jaskier, “I advise you to dress well tonight, Julian.”

“Why, mother, I always dress well.”

The Countess rolled her eyes. “Exceptionally well, then,” she corrected herself, then began walking around the room, looking at each doublet with scrutiny. “We’re expecting some special guests,” she said.

“Special guests?” Jaskier and Essi asked.

Wanda Pankratz offered no response as she took an exquisite blue doublet with silk floral embroidery from where it was draped over a chair by a dressing table. Handing the piece of clothing to her son, she said, “Wear this one. You look dashing in it.” Jaskier’s mouth was already opening, so she rushed to add, “Yes, as you do in everything, my dear.” She let out a sigh, regarding her middle child with fond exasperation. “You’re _my_ son, after all.”

Jaskier grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “The talent and the looks are all from you, dearest mother.”

“The knack for attracting trouble is from father, though,” Priscilla remarked.

Lady Pankratz chuckled but didn’t deny it. She gazed at her children – all three looking back at her with wide blue eyes, same as hers – and her heart swelled with love and pride. Priscilla, Julian and Essi Pankratz were known as some of the best bards in the country. The three of them were exceptionally gifted in the area of musical talent and wordsmithery, and each one possessed a quality that made them even more remarkable. Priscilla had a truly angelic voice, Julian was an extraordinary performer, and Essi’s songs were poetically unparalleled. It was no wonder that most Witchers on the British Isles wished to enter a partnership with one of the Pankratz siblings.

Wanda Pankratz, however, a retired legendary bard herself, allowed only the best of the best anywhere near her children.

“I must ask you to at least _try_ not to attract any trouble tonight,” she said, “This ball’s going to be important.”

“Important how?” Jaskier inquired with a bemused frown.

“And who’s coming?” Essi pressed.

“You’ll see,” their mother replied, an enigmatic smile on her lips, then walked out of the room.

Jaskier and Essi stared at each other, curious and confused, then directed their gazes at Priscilla, who kept scribbling, suspiciously unmoved by the whole situation.

“Who’s coming, then?” Jaskier asked. His older sister didn’t seem to register the question. “Priscilla?”

Priscilla hummed. “I don’t know,” she answered, not even glancing up from her notebook.

“You must know _something_ ,” Essi insisted.

After a moment of expectant silence, Priscilla sighed in resignation, her shoulders slumping. She closed the little book in her lap and finally looked at her siblings. “I do not know their names,” she said, “I’ve only overheard mother talking to Miss Hughes. More guest rooms needed to be prepared, for two gentlemen and two ladies.” Her posture stiffened. “I also accidentally found out that father has been corresponding with Kaer Morhen but–”

Jaskier and Essi gasped.

“Witchers?!” the young Viscount exclaimed, his whole demeanour already buzzing with excitement. 

“At last!” Essi gushed, “Maybe I’ll finally partner with one! Oh, I’ve been waiting for –”

“Do _not_ long for what you don’t know,” Priscilla cut in harshly, “The Path can be gruelling and deadly, and there’s little glory in the life of a witcher.”

Essi and Jaskier sobered immediately. They looked at their older sibling – who sat in the chair rigidly with a far-away look in her eyes – and their hearts ached for her.

“We won’t talk about it, then,” Jaskier said gently.

“No!” Priscilla protested, “please, don’t stop for my sake.” She bit her lip. “I simply… don’t want you two to end up the way I have.”

The Viscount and his younger sister shared a look.

“That witcher is the greatest fool in the world to have done what he did,” Essi proclaimed with a fierce glint in her eye.

“Indeed,” Jaskier agreed readily, “my dear Prissy, he should’ve come after you to grovel and beg you to return to him the moment he let you go.”

Priscilla was the first of the Pankratz siblings to partner with a witcher. Four years ago, already known for her talent at nineteen years of age, Priscilla was invited by Coën of the Griffin school to enter a partnership with him. Overjoyed, she agreed. Her family had no objections, for Coën seemed to be a wonderful match. A well-mannered, chivalrous intellectual – the perfect witcher for their perfect Priscilla. She chose the stage name of Callonetta and departed with Coën for the Path.

Whenever a letter from the eldest Pankratz sibling arrived home, it always spoke at length about the joy that Priscilla found in being Coën’s bard. Then, as Callonetta’s first songs about the Griffin witcher started circling around, her verses about him clearly showed a deep understanding of his person. Her words were soft and full of gentle love but Priscilla always claimed in her letters that they were dearest of friends, never betraying anything else about the nature of their relation. Her family didn’t pressure her into saying anything more about it; her well-being mattered to them the most and she did seem genuinely happy on the road with Coën.

At least until the day a year and a half ago, when Coën almost got fatally injured during a hunt and sent Priscilla away.

She still refused to talk about it. Every time the subject of witchers was brought up, Priscilla’s usual lively and radiant countenance stilled into a firm, guarded expression. She didn’t allow anyone to see her hurt, even now as she was among her siblings.

“If only it was so easy,” she replied.

Jaskier sighed. “Well, no matter,” he said cheerfully, “witchers coming or not, we’ll have a wonderful time, won’t we?” He started dancing around the room, swaying to the music which only he could hear. Humming a melody under his breath, he started singing, “ _we shall dance and drink, and not sleep a blink._ ” He waltzed over to Essi, took her by the hand and spun her around. “ _We shall put Joy herself to shame,_ ” he sang on, “ _and again make history forget Valdo’s name._ ”

Essi laughed and Jaskier twirled her again. He kept dancing with her and producing increasingly ridiculous verses until his younger sister was giggling hysterically and Priscilla finally smiled.

***

Jaskier had to keep reminding himself not to gape as he stared the dancing couple.

The pair stood out among others – a tall, very broad man and a petite woman who had so much presence that one could say she towered over her partner. Both were dressed head to toe in black. The lady’s locks were like raven fathers while the gentleman’s hair was white as snow, and the two of them could easily be the most beautiful people Jaskier ever had the pleasure of looking upon in the twenty-two years of his life. Their features were stunning and formidable, and there was almost deadly grace in their movements. To Jaskier’s eyes, they resembled two unearthly beings of power who could bring the world to grovel at their feet without a care for the hearts of mortals.

“Who are they, Julian?” Countess de Stael whispered to him as they observed the dancers, standing in the crowd by the door.

Jaskier didn’t reply, owing firstly to his current state of speechlessness and secondly to the fact that didn’t know the answer. He blamed the latter on how he had let himself indulge in the joys of the party.

The ball was the definition of lavish - the Lettenhove Palace was of considerable size and still, many of its rooms were filled with guests to the brim. Dozens of the people in attendance were Jaskier’s friends and acquaintances. As a result, after performing together with his sisters, the Viscount had spent the past few hours circling between groups of people, catching up and gossiping with everyone.

He must’ve been hard to find and therefore, his family couldn’t fetch him when it was time for introductions after the mysterious pair had arrived. It had been very rude of him, certainly, and Jaskier regretted it now as he watched them. It would be splendid to put a name to a face, for he was tempted to write a ballad just about the way they danced. The two seemed like everything Jaskier had ever wanted to immortalize in song: death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak.

After the dance ended, the mysterious pair left the dancefloor and joined another intriguing couple, who handed them glasses of wine. The other man was a tall, very broad blond, dressed in red and black, while the other woman wore a red gown and her beautiful face was framed by a shock of chestnut curls. The two ladies and the two gentlemen talked for a few moments, sipping on wine, then the white-haired man walked away from them towards the corner of the room.

Jaskier knew a chance when he saw one. He excused himself from the Countess de Stael’s company and stalked after the stranger. He found him standing alone in the very back of the ballroom with a glass in his hand, gazing out of the open window into the warm May night. For a moment, Jaskier just admired the sight that the handsome man made, but after he drank his aesthetic fill, he stepped closer. As if sensing his approach, the stranger looked straight at him. Jaskier’s gaze was met by piercing golden eyes with slitted pupils, and he tripped over his feet.

The witcher raised an eyebrow at the Viscount’s clumsiness but then turned his attention away to the dark of the night. Jaskier fought down the embarrassment and crossed the rest of the distance between him and the other man.

“I must say, sir,” he said, leaning his hips against the windowsill, “that I love the way you just... stand in the corner and brood.”

The witcher didn’t grace Jaskier with a glance in his direction as he answered, “I’m here to drink alone.”

The deep, pleasant timbre of his voice startled the young Viscount so much that he overlooked the witcher’s rudeness entirely. With a surprised laugh, he replied, “Before I leave you to it, sir, please allow me to comment on the quality of your dancing performance.”

The witcher looked at Jaskier this time, his eerie eyes narrowed. “Who are you to judge?”

Jaskier straightened, his chin raised defiantly, and replied, “I think I’m a very good dancer, myself.”

Jaskier was a creature of music through and through, after all. He didn’t have any trouble with dancing – he always let the music flow through his veins and moved his body to the rhythm. He was often praised to be graceful.

The witcher acknowledged Jaskier’s declaration only with a short, low “hmm”. There was a displeased frown on his face, and his shoulders were tense. His eyes were directed outside again, but it wasn’t so dark anymore, since the full moon peeked through the clouds. The witcher’s hair and his silver wolf medallion, hung close to the collar of his shirt, both gleamed in the moonlight.

“You don’t believe me?” Jaskier asked. The expression which the witcher answered him with made the question rhetorical. Indignance flared within him and Jaskier had to use all his (arguably scarce) self-control not to respond with a rude retort. “How about a dance, then?” he said instead, extending his gloved hand towards the man, “To demonstrate my skills.”

The witcher stared at Jaskier’s palm as if it was one of the monsters he hunted. His displeased frown deepened even further and for few long moments, he said nothing at all. Jaskier wasn’t deterred by the silence, however, and simply waited, looking up at the man through his long eyelashes, an inviting smile on his lips. Finally, the witcher let out an irritated sigh, put his glass of wine on the windowsill, and took Jaskier’s hand.

The Viscount grinned and led his partner to the dancefloor. The crowd parted to make way for them and furious whispers erupted all around but Jaskier hardly paid it any mind, too focused on how much larger the witcher’s hand was compared to his, even though Jaskier’s palm wasn’t small at all. Jaskier idly wondered how much he paid for such big black gloves.

The two took place among other pairs waiting for the music to start. Jaskier stood in the place of the lead, since he had been the one to ask the other to dance, but in a sudden flash, the witcher _moved_ them both so that he was the one leading. Jaskier gaped at his partner, not believing the sheer audacity of the action. The witcher was smirking in a way so self-satisfied that Jaskier wanted to smack him. Regretfully, it was at this moment that the first notes of “The Second Waltz” started playing.

With great reluctance, Jaskier leaned away into the follower’s pose and allowed himself to be led. And lead the witcher did, dancing with inhuman grace that was perhaps inherent to his kind. He guided his partner with certainty and the two moved together with inexplicable ease. Thanks to the witcher’s firm lead, Jaskier could lose himself in the music completely if he wished, even though he found himself unable to do so. The witcher’s heavy hands on his body were a distractingly welcome weight, and he simply could not look away from the piercing gold of his partner’s eyes. As the witcher twirled him three times in a row, his searing gaze made Jaskier short of breath.

The annoying smirk remained on the witcher’s lips, however, and the Viscount decided that he would wipe it off that handsome face. Without any warning, Jaskier switched his arms and changed his pose, making his partner take the follower’s position. The witcher adjusted his steps and let out a sound akin to a growl, which strangely thrilled Jaskier. He led his partner for a few moments, grinning cheekily, but then the lead was taken away from him.

And so their game began. Every time Jaskier attempted to regain the lead, he had to try harder to take his partner by surprise and use more strength to have him comply. When he did succeed to do so, the witcher let him lead for a short time, then made Jaskier be the follower again. It went on for a while but both the Viscount and the witcher refused to give up.

“What are you trying to prove?” Jaskier demanded, staring into the golden eyes.

The witcher said nothing, only put his hand lower on Jaskier’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together. Jaskier’s breath hitched – their physical contact was simply scandalous at this point – but he didn’t protest at all. He dared to move an inch closer and was rewarded with a squeeze on his hip.

The music and the sounds of the ballroom faded into the background to Jaskier’s ears, for he was too enraptured in their little play. The way he used his strength on the witcher and the witcher used his strength on him was simply exhilarating – he couldn’t get enough of being led by his partner and held by his muscular arms one moment, only to be the one to be obeyed the next. The witcher seemed to enjoy it too, if his dilated pupils were any indication. The cocky smile still wasn’t gone from his face, though, and at one point it even turned downright devilish.

Unsuspecting Jaskier had no time to prepare before the witcher lifted him up by the waist to twirl him in the air. Jaskier’s shocked expression actually made the witcher grin, sharp teeth on display, and it was not an exaggeration to say that the young Viscount didn’t recover from the experience until the end of the dance. He could only stare into the searing, golden eyes, breathe in the smell of leather and wine, and surrender at last, allowing the witcher to lead him. 

When the music stopped, applause erupted around them and it was only then that Jaskier realised they had had a considerable audience. Fighting down a blush, he took the witcher’s hand and walked him away from the dancefloor.

“How do you comment?” the witcher asked in a low rumble, “On the quality of my performance?”

Jaskier smiled cheekily. “Master witcher,” he replied, his voice husky, “it was like ordering a pie and finding it has your favourite filling.”

The witcher let out a huff that sounded almost like laughter. He looked at Jaskier silently for a moment, then nodded and walked without another word. After the Viscount was left alone, he stood in place, dazed, trying to take his breathing under control.

Then, his sisters appeared at his sides out of nowhere, both almost buzzing with excitement.

“Jaskier!” Essi gasped out, “The White Wolf?!” She erupted into giggles, not waiting for a reply. “Oh, it’s just like you! Getting the best one for yourself!”

Jaskier blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

“Jaskier, you just danced with Geralt of Rivia!” Priscilla exclaimed. At seeing the flabbergastered expression on her brother’s face, she pursed her lips, clearly repressing a laugh. “Do tell, why does it come as such a shock to you?” she asked, her voice tremoring with mirth.

Jaskier groaned, hiding his face in his hands. It was just like him, he mused, not to notice that he had danced with the most famous witcher in the whole country. The clues had been _there_ – the wolf medallion and the white hair – but of course Jaskier had been too caught up in the searing gold of the witcher’s gaze to even ask for his _name_.

“I... we, actually, well...” he stammered, flushing at his own foolishness, “he and I, we... haven’t been introduced.”

Essi giggled mercilessly again and even Priscilla couldn’t hold back laughter any longer. The two ladies laughed at their brother’s embarrassment until it hurt them to laugh more. All the while, Jaskier stood there, bearing the amusement at his expense with his cheeks flaming.

“Oh, dear brother,” Priscilla chocked out as she fought for breath, “You saw a handsome man and then simply put on a show with him, this is just like you indeed!”

“Can you blame me, though?” he grumbled.

“Not really,” Essi replied, “he _is_ very handsome. Just like Mister Eskel.”

Jaskier frowned. “Who?”

“Eskel of the Wolf School,” Priscilla explained, “he and Geralt of Rivia are close friends. They arrived here together with two sorceresses, Triss Merigold and Yennefer of Vengeberg.”

“The special guests?” Jaskier asked and his sisters nodded. 

“Very special,” Essi added, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “from what Prissy told me, Lady Triss and Lady Yennefer are _powerful_ , Mister Eskel is the best at magic in the Wolf school, and Geralt of Rivia is, well...” she trailed off.

Rumour had it that Geralt of Rivia was superior to all the other witchers in strength and endurance. The White Wolf was believed to be the mightiest monster hunter to ever live. Some called him the Butcher, since he had killed people as well, or so the story went. Jaskier, however, now thought that he knew the correct judgement of his character.

“A smug bastard.”

Jaskier’s proclamation made his sisters burst out laughing. He chuckled too, although weakly, still slightly dazed from all the excitement. When he expressed his dire need for a drink, his sisters agreed to join him in the endeavour of acquiring a glass of wine. From this point on, the Pankratz siblings didn’t separate for the rest of the ball. Together, they dazzled everyone with their beauty, the lovely sounds of their laughter, and the grace in their movements as they danced with each other.

Later, Jaskier and Geralt met again during a group dance. It wasn’t like their first waltz but it was no less spectacular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier, go to horny jail *bonk* 
> 
> Seriously tho, I loved how Very Bi he got as he watched Geralt and Yennefer dance. He was the definition of "mark me down as scared _and_ horny". We love this slutty legend, who invites handsome men to dance without bothering to ask their name. 
> 
> Part 2 is coming on Saturday. We'll get to discover the details of the arrangement and see what the bois do about it. See ya then!
> 
> Also, comments are life, I'd really appreciate if you tossed one ❤️


	2. II - Their Second Waltz

The day after the ball, Jaskier went downstairs half past noon. After all, he had gone to bed well past midnight, which was a sufficient justification for his late arrival to breakfast. Nobody needed to know that he couldn’t fall asleep because thoughts about a certain witcher had kept him awake until it was no longer dark outside.

When he entered the dining room, he found no one there, which wasn’t an unwelcome surprise. The young Viscount sat down at the table and started eating, trying not to revisit the _certain_ memories of the previous day. He didn't want to think about how his family would continue to tease him about his behaviour. 

Just as he thought that, Jaskier's father walked in. 

“Oh, Julian!” Lord Pankratz greeted his son cheerfully, “We’re alone, good.”

The words made Jaskier freeze. “What do you mean, father?”

Count Alfred Pankratz sat down across his son. His usual gaiety gave way to seriousness as he answered, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Jaskier’s studied his father’s expression, looking for any clues as to whether he should be worried. “Has something happened?” he asked. Then, it occurred to him what could be the reason for this conversation – it had taken place before. “Please don’t tell me that scandalous rumours about me are circling around again.”

Lord Pankratz’s dark green eyes twinkled. “Why, dear son,” he replied, “I should say that they erupted like a wildfire after your... _spirited_ dance with Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier looked down at his plate, his cheeks hot. Count de Lettenhove only chuckled, for at this point he knew there was nothing to be done about his son’s untamable nature. In fact, he had grown to appreciate and be fond of that particular trait in his middle child. It was very similar to his wife’s character, and he admired her greatly.

“This is not what we want to discuss with you, however,” he told his son. Letting out a heavy sigh, he went on, “As you know, we’ve been struggling with monsters on our lands for a long time.”

Jaskier nodded. There were many kikimora nests all over the Lettenhove county, and wyverns were a strangely common occurrence as well. No matter how many times witchers were hired to deal with the monsters, the issue returned quickly. Some thought their lands to be cursed.

“After the recent kikimora attack, we’ve come to the conclusion that special measures should be taken,” Lord Pankratz said, “Your mother advised me to write to Master Vesemir of the Wolf School to request aid. Master Vesemir judged our monster infestation problem as rather grave and proposed a certain... lasting solution.” Count de Lettenhove’s hands fidgeted and it suddenly struck Jaskier that his father was nervous. “It would a contract between Lettenhove and Kaer Morhen,” he carried on explaining, “effective for years to come. The witchers of the Wolf School would regularly patrol our lands and kill monsters in exchange for funds. As a way of sealing this contract, one of my children, who conveniently are renowned bards, would enter a... binding partnership with one of the witchers.”

“A binding partnership,” Jaskier echoed flatly.

“Marriage, Julian.”

“Oh,” Jaskier could only say. “With who?”

Lord Pankratz watched him warily. “Master Vesemir chose Geralt of Rivia as the one to be married.” He paused, anticipating some kind of reaction from his son, but there came none. Jaskier only stared at him, his face carefully blank, so the Count went on, “And well, we were very glad to see you and him get along–”

Jaskier rose from his seat so abruptly that the chair fell to the floor. He directed an accusing pointing finger at Lord Pankratz, for he now understood everything. “ _You!_ You planned this!” he cried, “You and mother both, and you didn’t tell me a thing! _Why_?!”

“We know your free spirit,” his father replied, painfully honest, “You would’ve done your best to disappear, had we told you earlier.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it – he couldn’t deny his father’s words.

Lord Pankratz let out a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry that it has to be you, Julian, I truly am. Yet we simply couldn’t do that to Priscilla, and Essi is a bit too young.”

The Viscount pursed his lips but again found himself unable to disagree. “When?” his ground out, his jaw clenched tight.

There was immense sadness in his father’s eyes as he answered, “Next month.”

“All right, then,” Jaskier replied sharply. He then stormed out of the room and out of the Palace, barely aware of his surroundings. Fury almost blinded him.

His legs carried him through the gardens, then towards the charming little forest that stood at the end of the grounds adjacent to the Palace. The brisk walk did nothing to help with getting the anger out of his system. In fact, the scorching heat of the day, rather unusual for May, had an opposite effect. Jaskier had to strip out of his doublet and unlace his chemise not to go absolutely mad, and when he finally reached the shade of the wood, he nearly teared up in relief. The Viscount wandered only a bit further, until he reached a small stream. He splashed its water all over his face and neck to cool down, almost soaking his chemise completely. After doing so, he sat down by the nearest oak tree, leaning his back against the massive trunk. Closing his eyes, Jaskier simply breathed in and tried to sort his thoughts.

He believed himself to be a true songbird in everything but physical form. He hated to be caged and always longed to fly free, after all. Being a witcher’s bard was practically a perfect way of living for him – he would gladly bear the tie of the partnership (that wasn’t too constricting anyway) in exchange for the constant travel and new wonders to immortalize in song. The commitment of being married to a witcher, however, displeased him greatly. Jaskier was aware that he was too self-absorbed to be married to anyone without hurting both parties.

The sound of a horse’s snort startled him out of his morose contemplation. Jaskier stood up and searched the surrounding with his gaze... only to see Geralt of Rivia himself, leading a chestnut horse by the reins a short distance away. Both the witcher and the Viscount froze in shock at the sight of each other, and Jaskier couldn’t help but notice that the handsome monster hunter looked even more impressive with the black armour on and the two swords on his back. His white hair caught the sunlight seeping through the trees and his golden eyes seemed to glow as they lingered on Jaskier.

Suddenly Jaskier realised what kind of picture he made – his chemise was still wet and unlaced, so it clung to his body and revealed his chest hair, leaving very little to the imagination. With a brazen smirk, Jaskier straightened his posture and put his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side. The witcher’s gaze followed the action in a rather appreciative manner, briefly roaming over Jaskier’s body before focusing on his face.

The bright gold met the cornflower blue and all at once, the yesterday’s memories of their dancing came back to Jaskier – the heat, the thrill, the breathlessness. Now, however, the experience was tainted with the truth of their situation, and Jaskier couldn’t fight the bitterness in his voice as he asked, “Did you find me satisfactory?”

The witcher let out a confused little “hmm?” that Jaskier refused to find endearing. “Yesterday, when we danced,” he clarified, “Did you deem me good enough to marry?”

Geralt of Rivia scowled formidably. “I didn’t know it was you,” he replied, “And I didn’t know about the _arrangement_ either.” These words made Jaskier scoff. “I swear,” the White Wolf insisted with a growl, “If they’d told me, they wouldn’t have found me ever again.”

Jaskier strangely found comfort in this. The anger in him deflated as he let out a slow breath. He eyed his future spouse wearily, taking in his armour, swords and horse again.

Then, an idea struck him.

“We really could run away.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier as if he went insane. Then, he deadpanned, “Don’t tempt me.” Intrigued, Jaskier was about to say something, but the witcher spoke first, “We need this contract. Kaer Morhen is falling apart and we haven’t got the funds to properly restore it. My reputation, too...” he trailed off, then huffed. “I need a bard.”

As if that explained everything, the White Wolf tugged at his horse’s reins and started walking ahead, not even sparing Jaskier a glance. Jaskier, wholly overtaken by the urge to execute his brilliant idea, wouldn’t be ignored. He jogged up to the witcher’s side and stood in his way.

“Let’s run away,” he said. 

Geralt looked at Jaskier like he was the most vexing creature in the world. Jaskier, not cowered by the White Wolf’s furious gaze, added, “For just a fortnight.”

This, Jaskier could see, made the witcher’s resolve crack slightly, so he pressed on, “We will leave no note, send no letters, just to make them mad with worry so that they will repent for the secrecy.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll have enough coin to cover all the costs of travel.”

“Fuck.”

“I won’t be but a silent backup –”

“Fine.”

The witcher’s irritated grunt made Jaskier beam. His happy grin seemed to placate Geralt somewhat. “Let’s meet at the stables after dinner, then,” he said. 

“Pack light,” Geralt grumbled. 

This made Jaskier smile even more.

A few hours later, the Viscount finally got introduced to the rest of the special guests. He found that Lady Yennefer was just as terrifying as she looked. Lady Triss and Mister Eskel were both amicable and overall a wonderful company. Jaskier’s sisters appeared to think so as well, since although they stayed wary of Lady Yennefer’s merciless wit, Priscilla seemed to have made fast friends with Lady Triss, while Essi and Eskel were clearly quite taken with each other. As regarding the latter development, Jaskier decided that he and the Wolf witcher will have _words_ soon, for he wasn’t sure he could allow his dearest, sweetest, seventeen-year-old Poppet to leave for the Path just yet.

That conversation was to come later, however. First, there was the escape. After Jaskier and his family ate dinner with their four special guests, both the Viscount and the White Wolf excused themselves before they joined the rest for the evening. Jaskier said that he had to fetch his lute, while Geralt announced that he would first check on his horse, for the mare had seemed unwell. What Jaskier did go to fetch was actually both his lute and his travel pack, and Geralt’s horse (named Roach, for reasons Jaskiers couldn’t begin to fathom) in truth seemed to be in good health as she carried them both away from the Palace.

Jaskier was almost heady from the success of the little scheme but his joy didn’t last long. As they stopped in the fields for the night and lit the bonfire, Lady Yennefer portalled into the middle of the campsite, almost giving Jaskier a heart attack. Geralt had failed to mention that apparently, sorceresses could make use of what was called “tracking spells”.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she thundered.

The White Wolf only smirked and pointed to Jaskier. “It was his idea,” he said.

Jaskier gasped at the betrayal. He was about to call Geralt a bastard but then Yennefer’s lightning-like eyes were on him, taking away his ability to speak.

“Mister Pankratz,” the sorceress addressed him, her voice calm but with a detectable threat underneath, “your family are worried sick. I’m asking you to go back home on their behalf.”

“I will not,” Jaskier mustered a reply. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him but he only raised his chin defiantly. “If you’d be so _kind_ , Lady Yennefer, please pass my deepest, most sincere apologies on to my sisters. Please also tell my parents that they can expect me back home in two weeks’ time. This –” he gestured at the campsite vaguely “– is what I believe to be the best way to get to know my future spouse and the reality of our approaching, _arranged_ partnership. It’s an opportunity which my parents denied me, for they told me nothing about the marriage until today, and I refuse not to seize the chance now that I’m here.”

To his surprise, Yennefer relented.

At the beginning of their travels, Jaskier and Geralt learned all the ways in which they were incompatible. Jaskier was a flurry of music and motion, which assaulted Geralt’s sensitive witcher senses. Moreover, Jaskier kept complaining about the discomforts of the Path and camping in the wild. His incessant whining, together with all the noise he made, irritated Geralt beyond belief. The witcher was at the end of his tether at all times, which made him quick to snap at Jaskier for any or no reason. Jaskier bore Geralt’s bad temper up to a point but as days passed, the witcher’s prickliness was beginning to put him off more and more. Geralt also didn’t engage in any kind of conversation with “his” bard, and the witcher’s dismissive silences were perhaps what hurt Jaskier the most.

By the end of their first week together, they could barely stand each other’s company. They were both in a foul mood, as their forcedly-shared future was looking rather bleak, but then something happened that started a change in their dynamic – Geralt took a contract to get rid of a noonwraith. The pay for the job seemed meagre even to Jaskier but the White Wolf accepted only half of it. When Jaskier asked him why he had done that, the witcher replied, “Look around. This village is so poor that I’m surprised they collected as much money as they did.”

It was at this moment that Jaskier realised that the White Wolf was _kind_. He was kind and willing to sacrifice his well-being to protect others, even if they spat at him and called him a Butcher. When Geralt returned wounded to their camp after the hunt, he only laid down on the ground without a word, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“Geralt,” he asked, “what do you need?”

“Silence,” the witcher grunted. After some time, he added, “And the black potion in the green veil.”

Jaskier hurried to fetch it as quietly as he could. From that point on, Jaskier started learning how not to be so self-centred – he stayed silent when he noticed that the witcher couldn’t stand his chatter anymore and tried to complain less. Geralt noticed this and thanked Jaskier for it in his own way: by making sure that his bard was as comfortable as it was possible and gracing Jaskier with instances of his dry humour. Jaskier actually found Geralt quite hilarious. Soon, the two were trading quips and barbs with ease, and the rest of their journey was marked by jokes and challenging stares.

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier said as they were approaching the Lettenhove Palace, “I can’t wait for our first-second dance. I’m sure you’ll allow me to lead this time, won’t you?”

Geralt only hmmed as he held Jaskier’s gaze, his golden eyes making Jaskier short of breath.

***

Wanda Pankratz observed the centre of the ballroom with rapt attention, her cornflower blue eyes glistening. She watched the two figures dance to “The Second Waltz” with astounding harmony. Both men were dressed in whites, blacks and blues, and they had eyes only for each other as they waltzed. Two other pairs danced close to the newlywed couple – two beautiful, blonde ladies with their witchers, one of them from the school of the Griffin, the other from the school of the Wolf. The Countess the Lettenhove’s lips curled into a tearful smile as she watched them. She then looked at her husband, who stood by her side and appeared just as moved.

“Oh, Alfred,” Lady Pankratz sighed, “we threw our children to the wolves.”

“But, my flower,” Lord Pankratz answered, “Coën is –”

Lady Pankratz tsked. “He’s an honorary Wolf!” she replied, “Please don’t spoil my delightful joke, dearest.”

Her husband chuckled but didn’t argue, then returned to gazing at Priscilla, Julian and Essi and their witchers together with his wife. Both their hearts swelled with love and ached all at once. Their children were happy and excited to begin travelling the country with their partners, yet this also meant that they would start their own lives and not visit home often at all.

Well, a year would have to pass before Essi departed for the Path with Eskel, which was due to Jaskier’s insistence. The Viscount had had a serious conversation with the Wolf witcher, and the rest of the family agreed with him on the matter, so Eskel couldn’t really object to Jaskier’s restrictions, no matter how much they upset Essi herself. The youngest Pankratz sibling had chosen a stage name for herself – Little Eye – and was already impatient to begin their partnership, and if it would bloom into a romantic relationship, then that would surprise precisely no one. Everybody could see how much the two admired each other already.

Priscilla renewing her partnership with Coën had certainly been a surprise. The Griffin witcher had of course been invited to Julian and Geralt’s wedding, for the Wolves treated him like their brother, yet no one had expected the reconciliation between the two to go quite the way it had.

When Priscilla and the witcher had been left alone in the room to discuss their issues, their conversation had quickly turned loud enough that everyone could hear it. The two had quite a set of lungs.

“Pris, you almost died!” Coën had cried, “You almost _died_ and I couldn’t protect you!”

“ _You_ almost died,” Priscilla had shot back, “because you threw yourself between me and that damned wyvern!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have followed me there like I told you to do!”

“And perhaps you should’ve understood when I told you I’d follow you everywhere!”

“No, I don’t understand it, Pris! You deserve so much better than just... me and the Path!”

“It _doesn’t get better than_ _you,_ Coën!”

After that, Priscilla’s family couldn’t hear anything more even if they strained their ears (and they just so happened to be close) until the pair emerged from the room in high spirits. Although their hurt wasn’t mended, they were willing to travel together again and repair their relationship. As everyone observed them interact before and throughout the wedding, it became clear that they _had_ been lovers after all.

The most surprising of all, however, was the fact that _no one_ knew for certain whether Julian Pankratz and Geralt of Rivia had been lovers before their wedding or not, even though the possibility of it being true seemed to be high - the two always conversed in a very lively manner and their gazes lingered on each other. However, those who had seen their actual first dance were aware that the pair was just... _like that_.

When the White Wolf and his bard Jaskier danced their second waltz on their wedding day, it was a sight to see. The witcher led for the first half of the dance, then gave the lead to his husband, and the waltz ended with them kissing in a way quite inappropriate for polite company.

Attracting attention and scandalising everyone around seemed to become their trademark when they departed for the Path. The charismatic, colourful bard and the brooding, white-haired witcher made quite a pair. Curious looks followed them everywhere they went and Jaskier always took care to put on a show either by giving a great performance or showing affection for his witcher spouse unabashedly. The public definitely had a preference for the former – Jaskier was indeed an exceptional performer. He gathered great crowds and made them sing his songs all over the country, which resulted in the redemption of Geralt’s name and witchers having coins thrown at them.

Yet, there was no other occasion when Jaskier and Geralt captivated and shocked more than when they danced together. They didn’t frequent balls often, as such parties were too overwhelming for the witcher’s senses, but when they did, it was certain that they would steal the show.

“Husband,” Jaskier would address his witcher spouse sweetly, for he knew that Geralt couldn’t deny him anything when called this name by his betrothed, “dance with me.”

Geralt would agree of course, allowing to be led by Jaskier, or being the one to lead. Jaskier protests regarding the latter grew few and far in between over the years, and he let his witcher do a lot to him on the dancefloor, including the twirls up in the air.

The way the two of them moved together was always full of harmony and passion, which would earn them both people’s admiration and scorn. Geralt and Jaskier didn’t particularly care for either in the moment. 

(Especially that they were capable of so much more. They had their “private” kind of dance that couldn’t be witnessed by anyone, as it involved their bodies moving against each other heatedly, their hands wandering everywhere. The sole purpose of it was to lead them to undressing and engaging in another kind of vigorous activity).

What mattered to them during a dance was the irreplaceable feeling of connectedness – the pleasant, comforting sensation of their bodies and minds becoming one as they immersed themselves in the music and motion.

“Still like your favourite pie?” Geralt would on moments like this, his voice a deep, warm rumble.

Jaskier would smile and answer, “Always, dear heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheer dumbassery of these two. I love them. 
> 
> What I imagine Jaskier and Geralt's "private" dance is a slow kind of tango... The thought of these two doing _that_ makes me *combust*. Anyway, writing this story was super fun and I hope you enjoyed it too! Thanks for reading :3 
> 
> Please consider tossing a comment, comments are life ❤️


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